


On A Leash

by Phoebsfan



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11212101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoebsfan/pseuds/Phoebsfan
Summary: Part of her wants nothing more than to send an arrow of her own through Oliver Queen's still beating heart to pay for the fact that hers stopped beating five years ago.





	1. On A Leash

**Author's Note:**

> This is some seriously dark stuff, full of potential triggers. Please proceed with caution. You may not like what you find.

 

 

 

* * *

 

_When I was a child, I heard voices,_

_Some would sing, and some would scream_

_You soon find you have few choices_

_I learned the voices died with me_

 

_When I was a child I'd sit for hours_

_Staring into open flames_

_Something in it had a power_

_Could barely tear my eyes away_

 

_All you have is your fire,_

_And the place you need to reach_

_Don't you ever tame your demons_

_But always keep them on a leash_

 

_Arsonist's Lullabye_

_-Hozier_

* * *

 

 

 

 

It takes five years, some more dark than others. Five long years where she became something... else.

 

She tells herself she doesn't blame him. That it doesn't bother her because he must have believed her dead; but little platitudes don't erase the darkness of those first weeks, or the misery of the next three years. She tells herself that his pain at believing that lie must have been unbearable; but her heart doesn't believe it compares to when Nyssa and Slade had finally found her again, and the physical and mental anguish of the two years she spent pulling herself back together.

 

Part of her wants nothing more than to send an arrow of her own through Oliver Queen's still beating heart to pay for the fact that hers stopped beating five years ago.

 

She recalls with perfect clarity, the moment Dig pushed her down that hole because she refused to move until she knew everyone was safe. Until she knew Oliver and William were okay. She remembers the snap of her ankle, the pain radiating through her leg and the shattered tablet on the ground next to her as the earth shook and Dig was gone.

 

She remembers Slade's rough hands dragging her away from the opening as the roof of the bunker started to collapse and darkness swallowed them. Nyssa's soft hands on her skin of her leg and foot, her apology as she set the bones. The days where they both took turns dragging her through the endless dark tunnels, after the chip in her back finally gave out, looking for a way out. Backtracking at every cave in, and praying that they weren't just walking in circles with no way out.

 

Felicity Smoak forgot very little about those days when it was just the three of them. Her inability to sleep, always afraid that one of her companions would decide that dragging her half crippled ass around was just a waste of their time and resources. Terrified she'd wake up one day alone with no way out. She never forgot the clawing hunger or the humiliation of depending so entirely on people she couldn't trust and had hoped to never see again.

 

And yet those first few weeks were paradise compared to what followed and the depths of terror and humiliation that would make those weeks a happy memory.

 

She remembers the way her heart caught in her throat when they finally found a way out of the dark. How they pulled her from a new hole and set her on the beach, the effort making both of them grunt and groan. Sweat and shame dripping down her skin as they collapsed next to her. The joy that followed, causing laughter and tears of relief that they no longer had to fight the dark, empty misery. How Nyssa had kissed her cheek and Slade had grabbed her hand.

 

She remembers how short lived it all was.

 

Not much had been left of the island, but they'd been so determined to find a way to contact someone. They had only left her alone to see what they could use. To find something to fill the emptiness inside and give them the strength they needed to survive what was left of that island from hell. When she'd seen the boat in the distance she remembers screaming herself hoarse.

 

She told herself she wouldn't hate him for thinking it was him, but it doesn't work. She's not to the point where she can forget that he left her helpless on that island and the people who found her...

 

She shakes it off like the chill of the damp night. Tugs her dark jacket closer as she watches.

 

Oliver, it seems, moved on quite nicely. He's playing catch with his son, in the back yard of his perfect house. She spent two years chained by her neck in the basement of a house like that, only a little nicer. Two years unable to run up those stairs and push open the door HE left unlocked to taunt her. Two years without the dignity of anything more than a bucket in the corner and whatever scraps HE thought she earned.

 

She decides that she hates Oliver's new home.

 

She remembers how when her little family finally found her, Nyssa held him down and Slade handed her the blade. She remembers how HE begged her not to do it. All his little apologies for the degradation and mountain of pain. Too little. Much too late. She remembers how his blood sprayed in her face, it's warm sticky mess dripping off her lips and the laughter that spilled out with it, how she'd kissed Nyssa then used the knife she'd sliced across her Master's throat to removed his priced possession. How she'd tucked it in his open mouth as he gurgled his last breath, and whispered sweetly in his ear about how he was such a good boy for taking his medicine. She remembers Slade's hand grabbing hers as she turned the knife toward her own throat, unwilling to continue living.

 

Oliver wouldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe the darkness she now housed or the person she had to become. Her demons always scratching to be let loose. Part of her never wanted him to know even as the other part begged for revenge.

 

She could imagine the way he would blame himself for the men who took her from the island and trained her to be something she hated. It would make him sick to know she had very little choice and no way to fight back. She wondered if he'd hate himself for every scar on her skin. If he'd vomit like she still does remembering those three years.

 

She knows just one memory from those days would be enough to send him into a rage. She knows she could easily drive him mad with all of the hands that held her down and took away everything she was. She thinks that might be better than an arrow because then he would have to live with it every day.

 

Unable to escape it. Like her.

 

When he kissed his son goodnight, he'd have to see her on her back with some stranger's dick in her mouth. When he drank his morning coffee he'd have to see her with cum and tears dripping off her chin. When he sat behind his desk, he'd have visions of her bent over it, ropes around her wrists holding her broken body in place as her back is laid open under the harsh bite of a whip she can't feel.

 

She doesn't know if she should tell him that eventually they figured out how to make the chip work again. How they rigged it to a remote and could turn it on and off on demand. How she never knew when she'd be able to walk but always dreaded when she could because things would be so much worse.

 

She doesn't know why she came back at all. Darkness falls around her and for a minute she imagines it's spilling out of her pores but the moon in the sky above denies the fantasy, and the sound of crickets chirping echo in the emptiness of her chest.

 

Oliver and William go in and she sits down on the curb across the street. Her brown hair is long enough to hide behind and her legs don't want to hold her up. Oliver wouldn't recognize her now. Her body is all hard lines, muscle and sinew. Strength. Everything she needed but didn't have.

 

Nyssa and Slade made sure she could handle anything before they bid her goodbye. She promised to return to their odd little family but she could tell from the look in Nyssa's eyes that she never would.

 

There was a hunger in her own eyes that neither one of her teachers could ignore. A fire that still burned somewhere in the back of her memory. She'd spent the last two years trying to deny it. Slade told her that as long as she lived unsettled, she would never reach her full potential. Maybe that was what finally drove her back to the place it all began. To him.

 

So she spends every night sitting outside his door. Wanting to kill him. Dying to torture him. Wishing she could hate him more. Needing him to see her.

 

Her days have been spent tracking down her former team. Not all of them left the island five years ago, but a few survived. Thea spends a lot of time at a headstone with Felicity's name on it. She listens as Thea says she's sorry, that it shouldn't have happened. She also tells Felicity's ghost that Oliver still needs her but Felicity doesn't see it.

 

A car drives by and Felicity shrinks back from the bright light. She is distracted long enough to miss Oliver's door opening and has to hop to her feet quickly as he tugs a trashcan to the end of his driveway. She scales the tree in his neighbors yard quickly, she could show him a thing or two on that salmon ladder now.

 

Her foot slips and she almost swears but she bites her lip hard and pulls herself up the rest of the way. Still the tree shakes just enough, and she catches Oliver looking around suspiciously.

 

“Hello?” he calls.

 

It takes everything in her not to answer him.

 

Eventually he heads back in and she gives it another ten minutes until the light in his bedroom comes on before she drops from the tree, landing in a silent crouch.

 

“Felicity?” it's Thea's voice at her back and she freezes.

 

“No,” she growls, already knowing her body language has given her away, as Thea jerks her around.

 

“Oh my god! Felicity!” Thea's arms feel nice around her cold shell. She tries not to lean into the hug but she doesn't blame Thea. Thea is sorry for what happened. Felicity has seen the tears at a grave with no body, just a ghost. “I've got to tell Oliver.”

 

Felicity's legs won't move and her brain won't function and before she knows what's going on, Thea has made it to the door.

 

“NO!” she calls out, but it's too late because Oliver is running across the street.

 

“DON'T,” she warns as he comes to her with open arms, “...don't touch me,” she pleads, because his eyes are the same sad eyes and she knows if he puts his arms around her she will fall apart. Thea's arms made escape impossible, his would surely trap her forever.

 

“Felicity,” he murmurs from a foot away, his hands up and open as if he's afraid she'll bolt.

 

“Please,” she whimpers, unclear what she wants or needs.

 

“God, Felicity. Talk to me,” he begs. His hands hesitate and slowly reach for her.

 

“I hate you,” her voice is broken and he doesn't know what to do. “Please, I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

 

She whispers as tears stream down her face. She hasn't felt this out of control for a long time. She hates that he makes her this way.

 

“Felicity?” Thea questions coming around to her other side, trying to trap her into Oliver's arms. She jerks like a scared animal and it's all the distraction he needs. His hand touches her arm and she yanks it away.

 

“I said don't touch me!” she's quickly losing her shit and she needs to get out of here before...

 

“Dad?” William calls from the door and she collapses to the ground. Oliver gestures at Thea and at his son.

 

“It's okay,” Thea calls out and runs back to the door, ushering William back inside. “You're dad is just talking to an old friend,” she says as the door closes behind them and Felicity is once more alone with him.

 

He sits on the ground next to her; the space between them easily bridged with his arm, but he gives her the space she requested and doesn't touch her.

 

“If I'd known... god Felicity,” he mutters.

 

She doesn't want to feel guilty for his broken voice and haunted eyes. She doesn't want to forgive him. The hate has been all that kept her going. It's burned in her for years and she doesn't know who she is without it. For five years she's tried to come back to him only to lose everything. She's just getting the pieces to fit together, just learning how to smile and live. She can't...

 

“If you need to hate me, I understand. I thought you were dead. Dig said he saw... We couldn't find a way in and it had been three weeks with no hope... I hate me, too. I never should have left you,” he murmurs and she listens. His fingers tug at the grass by her feet.

 

“I couldn't do this without you. I couldn't do anything. You're here and all I want to do is hold you and make the last five years go away but I don't deserve to. If I'd just stayed...” he groans and she doesn't feel guilty or even sad anymore.

 

He's right. It is his fault. She doesn't want to deny it. She just never thought she would be the ash in the wake of his fire.

 

“I need you to let me go,” she whispers after a moment. If she ever wants to be whole again, she needs him to know she can't belong to anyone. She knows him well enough to know that if she stays he will own her. He always has.

 

“I don't know if I can,” she finally looks him in the eyes and nods sadly. Everything about her is sad now, she's all dull and broken muted colors. It hurts him to see the vibrancy has left her.

 

“You can. You have to,” she promises as she stands.

 

“Please,” this time he begs for her touch but honors her conditions. She thinks maybe it's a good sign.

 

“I clawed my way through the last five years, Oliver. I'm not who you remember. I probably won't ever be that girl again,” she takes a step away from him and he rises to his knees and reaches for her but pulls back remembering her request.

 

“Felicity...” she thinks it's about time he found his knees. It gives her some of the power she needs.

 

“No, I need you to know that I'm not a whole person anymore. You left me on that island but you haunted me for five years. I don't know what I am anymore, but I can't find out with you. I understand why you left. I do. But there are things I need to finish. Things you can't ever know,” she decides right there that he doesn't ever need to know about her experience in human trafficking. “I'm glad you're happy and safe and have this life, but I can't be in it.”

 

She also decides that he doesn't deserve to know. Let him wonder and worry. The truth of it will be worse than he can imagine, but he won't ever know that.

 

“You can. You are. Come back to me. Please. Felicity. Please.”

 

The look on his face though is more devastating than she expects, and the compassionate side that is just barely starting to resurface in her can't leave him completely devoid of hope. Not like she was. She loved him once even if he broke her.

 

“Maybe. Someday. I'm trying. Just... Until I can look at you and not want to stick an arrow through your heart or torture you with my own horror stories... I can't.”

 

He looks confused.

 

“You want to hurt me?” he questions as if he is uncertain he's hearing her right and it pisses her off.

 

“Almost every minute,” of course she does. How can he not understand? He was supposed to protect her, love her, save her. Instead he left her to hell. She could have forgiven him if it had just been his boat that found her alone on that beach. His hands that had pulled her from the sand. His fingers ripping her clothing. His mouth...

 

It was supposed to be him.

 

He looks at her for a minute more then comes to his feet and places himself in front of her.

 

“Then do it. I'm here. Please do anything, just don't go.”

 

Too close, so she steps back.

 

“It won't make me change my mind,” she tells him.

 

“Do it anyway,” he encourages and for a moment they simply stand in an odd standoff.

 

Her fingers twitch, she has the blade she used to slaughter the demon in her boot. She knows he hasn't been suiting up and must be out of practice.

 

It would be so easy.

 

“I don't really want to,” she finally admits. She thinks it's for her benefit though, not for his.

 

“I know,” he whispers, his damn eyes promising things she can't accept. Knowing her choice even as this twisted broken version of who she used to be.

 

“Then why?” she asks him. Why doesn't she want to hurt him? Why doesn't she hate him? Why does he stand there and act like everything is okay?

 

“Come inside, Felicity. You're safe,” it's another promise and she wants so badly to believe it.

 

It's all she needs, to feel safe again. To feel like danger isn't hiding around every corner. To feel like trusting someone won't end in more pain and suffering.

 

“How do you know?” she whispers, and it breaks his heart even more.

 

“Because you're home.”

 

She doesn't remember home. Doesn't remember what it feels like to have a home or be a home.

 

“Am I?” she desperately needs to know.

 

“Yeah, love. You are. If you need us to give you space, we will. If you need to swear and throw things. If you need to hurt me, you can. But you're home now, and you're safe. You don't have to fight anymore.”

 

She lets out an almost feral sounding whimper and lets him lead her to his door. She's so tired of fighting. Wants to surrender but can't give in. She can't let them win. All she needs is a direction, something to reach for.

 

“I'm tired,” she admits as he opens the door and waits for her to walk in.

 

“I know,” he murmurs.

 

“You can't touch me,” she hesitates at the threshold. He needs to know she isn't falling back into his arms. She might never fall back into his arms.

 

“I won't.”

 

He keeps his promise and does not touch her as she walks in and he closes the door behind them. She's grateful. One day maybe touch won't make her want to crawl from her skin.

 

Thea and William are in the living room and he nods at them before gesturing to the stairs, his hand safely behind her back, hovering inches from her spine.

 

“You won't like me. I'm not...” she doesn't want to talk about it in front of the others so she starts up the stairs and he follows.

 

“I will always love you, no matter who you are,” he tells her as he opens a door at the top of the stairs, revealing what has to be the master bedroom.

 

“I have lots and lots of demons, Oliver,” she sighs looking longingly at the bed she might have shared with him in another life.

 

“Wasn't too long ago I was telling you that,” he offers her a smile and she frowns.

 

“It's not the same thing,” she says seriously, then steps over to the bed and sits down. He pretends not to notice as she pulls her blade from her boot and the gun from her waistband.

 

“I know.”

 

“It really isn't.”

 

“Hush,” he says as he sets an old t-shirt on the bed next to her, “We can talk about it in the morning.”

 

He turns his back so he doesn't see the blade strapped to her arm or the small gun in her other boot, and she quickly tucks her weapons away, out of sight. Then pulls her armor off and slips into the soft shirt. It smells like she remembers and a little weight seems to lift from her chest as she slides under the covers.

 

“Okay,” she murmurs and he turns to face her.

 

“Goodnight,” he offers before heading to the door and reaching for the light. She doesn't like being alone in the dark.

 

“Will you... stay?” she asks, “Not like here... but over there maybe?” she nods with her head to an uncomfortable chair in the corner.

 

“Anything you need, Felicity. Anything.”

 

He leaves the light on.

 

 

 

 


	2. All The Ashes In My Wake

 

 

* * *

 

_How can I say this without breaking?_

_How can I say this without taking over?_

_How can I put it down into words,_

_When it's almost too much for my soul alone?_

 

_I loved and I loved and I lost you_

_I loved and I loved and I lost you_

_I loved and I loved and I lost you_

 

_And it hurts like hell_

_Yeah, it hurts like hell_

 

_Hurts Like Hell_

_-Fleurie_

* * *

 

 

 

 

He watches her sleep, watches her toss and turn. Little whimpers and moans breaking free. She wakes with her eyes wide, scanning her surroundings then eases herself to the bed as if she's still uncertain of her safety. Her hand slips under the pillow where she thinks he doesn't know she's keeping her weapons. Her eyes meet his and he only nods. Only then does she close her eyes and repeat the process.

 

Over and over she wakes, and he's afraid again that she'll decide to run out the door and never come back. He doesn't dare think about what he'll do if she does. He knows he won't be able to stop her if what she really needs is to leave, and it chills him to the core.

 

She might be tossing and turning in the bed that has always been theirs, but he doesn't know for how long. They teeter precariously on the edge of that razor thin blade of hope, and hope has always been a cruel mistress. He's learned never to trust hope. Never to turn his back on it. Hope is the only thing that has ever wielded enough power to break him.

 

Until her...

 

His fingers twitch against the arms of the chair he sits in, the only tell to the battle he fights.

 

He doesn't know what she's been through, but he sees in every line of her body that it has broken her. He sees she's trying every time she trusts him enough to close her eyes again, and it breaks his heart that she has to force herself back down to the bed. Every time she looks to him for assurance twists in his gut, the taste sour in his mouth.

 

Every little toss and turn and whimper weighs on his soul like the rubble of the island. Impossible to remove or dig down deep enough to free them. He should know, he's been trying to dig his way to freedom for five long years with no luck or relief from the back breaking, soul crushing, weight of not knowing what had happened to her. If it had been quick and painless or if she had lingered calling for him. Hoping he'd find her and pull her free, only to find that he failed her once more.

 

He still wakes drenched in sweat, her voice in the distance, her broken body in his arms. He still tastes the fear and smells the dread in every heartbeat that's too loud in the dark night. In every gasping breath that rattles his tired body, he feels sharp agony of empty space.

 

He never wanted to leave her on the island. He remembers not having much say in the matter actually.

Eventually Dig and Thea somehow managed to pull his body from the wreckage, though his heart was still buried in the rubble with her.

 

They'd looked for her. For Slade, for Nyssa, for Sam and Quentin. It was finding Sam's body that had convinced the rest of the group, but he had known. Felt like if Felicity had been taken he would have just known she was gone. Thea had convinced the rest of them to give him another week after that, but even she knew they would never find Felicity.

 

Still he had pressed on, because he couldn't leave that island without her, even if it was only the broken shell of the woman he loved more than life itself that left with him. He hadn't wanted to hear reason then, hadn't believed it was possible that they wouldn't find her. They had to. He had no other choice.

 

He remembers sinking to his knees on a beach, the sand too hot beneath his knees the sun too bright overhead, watching some boat disappear off the coast as Thea tried to explain to him. The words were just noise in his head, like he was in some far off room where only he existed. A room that had once been filled with her voice, her smile, her touch and suddenly it was just empty. Just him while outside forces threw logic and reason at the windows trying to break the glass, trying to reach him.

 

That was the moment he felt her truly gone, like she had finally slipped away from him forever. Thea nursing her own wounds, explaining that three weeks was too long. Dig had seen the cave in. Even if they'd survived that there wasn't food, or water, even their air would run out eventually. They might never dig deep enough to find the bodies.

 

He remembers how he wished more than anything it was his body down there. His body they were trying to uncover, because though he knew it would break her heart, he knew she would be able to handle the loss. He's no fool, he knows she's always been stronger than him in that way.

 

He remembers how Thea tried to tell him that William needed him now. That they couldn't stay there looking forever. That Felicity would want him to take care of himself. He remembers that he let her lead him back to where they had set up camp, because he didn't know what else to do. He remembers sitting on his cot and staring at nothing. Trying to figure out a way to undo it all, trying to make himself believe it was all a horrible dream, begging with any god that would listen to restore her to him.

 

Then just staring into his future and not seeing anything.

 

Dead.

 

Crushed like the only person who ever made him think he could have a future. The only person who ever made him want a future.

 

He remembers Dig telling him that he needed to get up but not remembering how to make his body obey. Thea trying to get him to eat and drink, but not being able to stomach the idea of doing those things when Felicity never would.

 

They let him sit like that for two days before they used force. Even then they'd barely been able to overwhelm him. He remembers the way he'd clawed at the ground, dirt under his fingernails as he tried to keep them from moving him. His voice gone, broken over her name, calling for her so desperately it made them take turns sitting with him for three weeks after they'd left. Never leaving him alone to give him the opportunity to join her.

 

Because he remembers quite clearly that that was the only thing he wanted to do back then. Stay with her forever.

 

Hell, maybe it's they only thing he's ever wanted to do since the first day he met her.

 

Felicity kicks her blankets free and he stands and moves over to the bed to cover her again. His fingers ache to trace her cheek, to taste that soft skin once more. Cup her face and whisper how sorry he is for letting them tear him away from her. How he hates himself for believing the lie. How he should have known she wouldn't leave him so easily.

 

He just wants to hold her again. It's all he's wanted to do from that moment on the beach where he felt her slip away from him.

 

But he honors her wishes and doesn't touch her, his fingers lock around the blanket instead and he hovers above her watching the way her breathing increases just slightly. The way her fingers clench into fists and her top rides up just enough for him to see a sliver of her back as she turns away from him.

 

It guts him. He sinks to his knees but can't tear his eyes from the angry lines that mark that small sliver of skin that used to be flawless. He wants to tear her clothes off and kiss them away. He wants to scream and find the person who marked her. Make them suffer before he ends them. He vows he will end whoever stole her smile and filled her with the terror that keeps her from easy slumber.

 

He's terrified of what else she's hiding. What other scars mar her skin and that beautiful soul? He thinks he's never been so scared in his life. He clutches the blanket and remembers.

 

The first two years without her are blurry. He spent them in a bottle. On pills. Whatever he could find to make things go away for a while. Waking up next to her headstone, in his car, in his own vomit. Never his bed, not without her.

 

The city suffered too, he lost his position as mayor. People died and suffered because he couldn't make himself put on the suit. He remembers not wanting to fight for a city without her in it. But he also remembers being more than willing to brawl with anyone who got in between him and his new love of destroying his life. Dig had given him more than one black eye in those days.

 

But his worse offense had to be the way he couldn't even look at his son after taking his mother away from him.

 

He's amazed that William can feel anything for him after the neglect. Really Thea has been more of a parent than he has. But he still remembers the day she punched him in the nose and told him they were dragging his ass to rehab. That Felicity would be ashamed of him.

 

He knows now she hates him. He hasn't hated himself this much since that third year without her when he was trying to become the man she left. When the consequences of everything crashed into him with his new found sobriety and the pain of losing her was now inescapable. But he'd pulled himself together and learned how to live with the regret and shame. He'd learned how to bury the self loathing deep. But he'd never fully recovered. It never went away.

 

Most nights he still doesn't sleep in his own bed. She doesn't know that this is not the first night he's spent in the chair in the corner of his room. She doesn't know it's not the first night he's found sleep elusive or the first night he wishes he could have sacrificed himself for her.

 

God, if only...

 

She is the constant ache in his heart and as he draws the blanket back up to her neck and drops it, he knows his pain is nothing compared to hers. And it's all his fault.

 

He did this to her and he doesn't know how to fix it, if it even can be fixed.

 

Sighing he returns to his seat on the other side of the room far from her and continues his vigil. It's all he can do. Maybe it's all he deserves, to watch her suffer and be unable to touch her. Incapable of offering her any real comfort. Paralyzed and not allowed to help. Resigned to his corner.

 

Maybe he just can't bear the idea of tearing his eyes from her for a single minute.

 

He still remembers that kiss before it all blew up. The fear in her eyes like she knew and if he had been smart enough to listen... He regrets not pulling her close one more time. Not telling her she was everything. Not holding her enough. That wasted year when he could have fixed things if he'd only been smart enough to talk to her.

 

His regrets and fears war in him. Living and breathing things that tempted him to action. She made him still. She always knew how to calm the storm and set it right. He still doesn't know how to set it right, so he has no idea how he's going to help her when he can't even help himself.

 

He just needs her so much, and now she's here and she needs him more. She needs him maybe more than he's ever needed her, but he doesn't know how to be that person. What to do?

 

His arms ache, and there is a constant tug on his heart, like he's just too far away. Nervous energy hums under his skin and he itches to move closer. Just one little touch of her skin under his, to reassure himself that she is real, is here, is safe. Just one little taste. It's a siren's call in his blood.

 

That is how Thea catches him after she sends his son to bed. On the edge of madness and desperation.

 

He feels her worried eyes on him from the doorway and he pulls his eyes away from the broken form in their bed to meet his sisters.

 

She asks if he's going to be okay, without words in that silent way they've always shared. He tries not to hate himself for making his little sister take on even more of his emotional train wreck of a life. Gives her a weak smile and a shrug, and she enters the room silently. She wraps her arms around him and presses her cheek against the top of his head, as she makes herself comfortable on the arm of his chair.

 

He wishes she could tell him that it will be okay. That Felicity will wake up that same bright eyed, sassy, colorful girl he left. But he knows that's never going to be true again and Thea's arms tighten around him like she knows that he needs her to hold him down, hold him back, keep him in his skin.

 

He's grateful, because his demons howl and threaten to tear him apart and Felicity's are too loud in that quiet room.

 

He knows that if Speedy lets go, he's going to break the promise he made. He's going to pull Felicity from the bed and trap her in his arms and lose her forever.

 

“Don't let go,” he whispers.

 

“I won't,” she promises.

 

It's only her promise that allows him to keep his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been my first foray into the Arrow fandom and the response has been amazing. Thanks for all the feedback. There will be at least one more chapter of this.


	3. Love's Perfect Ache

 

_No time for rest. No pillow for my head._  
_Nowhere to run from this. No way to forget._  
  
_Around the shadows creep. Like friends, they cover me._  
_Just wanna lay me down and finally try to get some sleep_  
  
_We carry on through the storm_

_Tired soldiers in this war_

_Remember what we're fighting for_  
  
_Meet me on the battlefield. Even on the darkest night._

 _I will be your sword and shield, your camouflage and you will be mine_  
  
_Echoes of the shots ring out. We may be the first to fall._  
_Everything could stay the same or we could change it all_  
  
_Meet Me On The Battlefield_

_-Svrcina_

 

 

 

 

Sometime around 4am he feels strong enough to sit without Speedy and he tells her to sleep, she argues but eventually gives in and crashes on the bed in his guest room. It's familiar, it had been her room not all that long ago. He still feels guilty about needing her live in help for so long. He was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.

 

Felicity wakes again, not long after Speedy leaves. She watches him from across the room and he doesn't know what to say or do so he sits quietly with her as the sun comes up. She doesn't know what she needs so she lets him.

 

She thinks it should be more awkward, that the darkness in her should make her resent his continued presence but she finds that she doesn't. She's slept better than she has in years and she knows it's due to his watchful eyes. She wishes she knew how to thank him but thinks words wouldn't be enough. Not when she doesn't know if she's staying.

 

The alarm by the bed blares out, making her jump, the quiet moment lost as he apologizes. Standing he offers his son's name as explanation and Felicity realizes that it's late fall, and Oliver's son is sleeping in the other room, waiting for his father to come wake him for school.

 

It's surreal. There was a time she played with the idea of their child sleeping in the other room, but that's all it had been. Maybe all it would ever be.

 

He hesitates at the door and she gives him a weak smile.

 

“Go,” she whispers and he nods and leaves her again.

 

She wants to lay back down and pull the covers over her head. Surround herself in memories and fantasies. She wishes it could be that simple, but his bed doesn't smell like him and covering herself with blankets won't keep out reality; so she slips her weapons out from under the pillow and prepares herself for the day.

 

Oliver makes sure his son is up and moving and resists the temptation to run back upstairs to check on her. Instead he makes his way to his kitchen and begins making breakfast. His son finds him in the kitchen first, with questions that he can and can't answer.

 

He explains that Felicity is a close friend who needs some help and that she might be around more, but he can't answer how long she'll stay or what happened to her. William doesn't seem to mind, and is more interested in the waffles on his plate. Speedy stumbles in half asleep, as William finishes and sets his plate in the sink, darting off to finish getting ready. She grumbles about coffee as Oliver steers her toward the table and sets a mug in front of her.

 

He can tell when the coffee hits her system because she gives the plate across the table a meaningful look. The plate he set for Felicity. He tries to shrug it off all the while resisting the urge to tear up those stairs and find her. He doesn't want to believe she'd leave again without a goodbye, but he knows that if she has her mind set on being alone there is nothing he can do to stop her.

 

Still he thinks that pretending everything is normal might be the best plan. It might be the only way he can get through the day. So he'll make her breakfast even if she never comes down to eat it.

 

Felicity only feels slightly guilty for slipping out Oliver's window and using the nicely placed tree next to it as a ladder. She made it to the top of the stairs, where she heard Oliver and his son sharing breakfast before realizing that she just wasn't ready for that kind of thing.

 

She can't sit across from him and pretend that nothing has changed when everything has. Though she's also grateful that he isn't making a big deal out of her return. She couldn't even entertain the idea of staying if he was pushing her to talk about it.

 

And that's exactly what she finds herself doing, entertaining the idea. Would it be impossible for her to just sit in the background of his life? If he doesn't push her, if he lets her lead. Maybe she could stay a little while longer.

 

She left her jacket on his bed, hoping it would be enough to keep him from tearing apart the city to find her. Hoping he'd understand what it meant; that she wasn't going to leave him without a goodbye. Though on the other hand, she's not really sure the jacket is that much of an incentive to return.

 

She watches from across the street as William races out to the bus, waits to see what happens next. She wants to catch Thea and ask about the others. She knows that they've taken over Oliver's nighttime gig and she desperately wants access to her old system. Not only to find the men who broke her, but to restore something of her old life.

 

Maybe the click of her keyboard and the hum of her servers will make her start to feel normal again.

 

Slade told her she needed to get some closure to improve her focus, but she knows that it won't matter how long she talks things out. She's never going to have the same grace and fluidity or athletic ability. Her body is strong and she can do a million things she never though she'd be able to do, but her superhero type skills have always been better utilized behind an electronic screen. Part of her aches to get back to it.

 

When Thea doesn't step out of the house it only takes a minute for Felicity to scale the tree she descended and perch outside of the window she'd exited from. She debates going in to find her but what she sees through the window stops her.

 

Oliver is sitting on his bed, the jacket she left pressed to his nose. Knuckles white, head hanging. She knows he missed her. She knows it must have broken his heart. She knows he must have suffered. But her anger has always made it so easy to forget what that looks like and with the reality staring her in the face she feels uncomfortable, like he's slipping behind her mask.

 

Crawling under her skin to that place that no one is allowed to enter. That dangerous place she had to lock up so that she could move forward. So that no one could touch her. She doesn't like it; the little inkling of some forgotten compassion, the urge to open the window and comfort him. Assure him with words that she still doesn't know if she means.

 

It feels like he's trying to take her control away and she can't give him that, but she can't move either.

 

Slamming her eyes closed she counts backwards, takes deep breaths. Her fingernails bite into her palms, her tongue trapped between her teeth, jaw clenched. Tries to move her damn focus to relaxing her tight muscles and off of the emotion trying to take over.

 

When William left Oliver works up the nerve to confirm his worst fears. He knows before he reaches the bedroom. Opening the door he goes through all the self affirming mantras he can think of, trying to convince himself that it will be alright. That even if she isn't behind that door, things will work out.

 

He won't lose it this time, because she's alive. He knows she's still breathing and moving. So he doesn't need to try and kill her memory to keep her from haunting him this time. He has William and Thea and Dig and... the empty room still crushes him.

 

He takes a moment, a breath, an inventory of all the reasons why this is different than before; and then he sees her jacket on the bed and it's like the sun breaks through the clouds. He snatches it up, clutches it tight, sits on the bed and breathes her in. It's the next best thing, if he can't hold her, if he can't see her, at least he knows she'll be back.

 

He thinks it's the kindest thing she's ever done for him.

 

Sitting on the bed he vows again to do whatever it takes to bring her back. Even if that means letting her fight the battle alone.

 

He presses her jacket to his face and hopes to god that she doesn't have to do it all alone.

 

When she's able to open her eyes again, she peers back into the window as Oliver stands. He places her jacket in the chair he occupied the night before with a small little smile, like he's so unbelievably happy to have her shit lying around again. He was always more tidy than she was, she thinks, and can't help the grin that graces the corner of her lips.

 

She watches as he makes the bed and liberates a new shirt from his closet, setting it carefully on the made bed before finding a pair of pants, socks, a change. It's oddly soothing to watch him go through his routine. Maybe because it hasn't changed all that much in all the time she's known it.

 

When he disappears into his bathroom she slips back into the house to find his sister. She prides herself on only hesitating for a second outside the door to listen to the sound of water hitting his skin and she can only imagine the steam filled room and the scent of his soap. She shakes herself free of the tempting distraction when she remembers how disgusted he would be with her if he knew everything and the shame spirals start to overwhelm her. Her feet are silent and quick as she runs away from him.

 

Thea is still at the kitchen table sitting with her knees drawn up, her feet planted on the chair and one arm wrapped around her legs, when Felicity finds her. A plate of waffles sits across from her, untouched and sending out an amazing aroma. Felicity's stomach growls and Thea smiles.

 

“We could warm them up,” Thea suggests but Felicity declines the invitation, choosing instead to give in and eat them cold. She slides into the seat and proceeds to practically inhale the food. Sometimes she forgets how good properly prepared food can be.

 

“There's more if you want. Ollie always makes too much,” Thea offers and Felicity grins and slows down, slightly embarrassed at being called out. She remembers Oliver's cooking habits, even after everything. The smile that would light up his face when she groaned her approval on that first bite and the way his eyes would follow her, pupils blown, like food was the last thing he wanted.

 

More. He always wanted more, and she'd never been one to turn him down. Leftovers were amazing at three in the morning when eaten cold in bed, after working up a sweat.

 

“Maybe later,” she smiles as her mind drifts for a minute. She only allows the memory of them to linger for a moment before she pulls herself back together and washes down the last swallow with a mug of coffee that Thea seemed to produce out of thin air.

 

“Actually I wanted to ask you something...” Felicity hesitates and Thea puts down her cup of coffee to focus on what Felicity has to say. “Oliver isn't... I guess I was just...”

 

Thea's jaw clenches and it's almost unnoticeable. She shifts in her seat and drops her feet to the floor as she reaches to grab the coffee pot from its place on the counter next to the table, carefully refills her mug without letting anything show.

 

Felicity doesn't know how to ask. She doesn't want things to be weird but she feels this tension between the two of them and she doesn't know how it got there.

 

“If you're trying to ask why Oliver isn't spending his nights in a hood, I can't really tell you. He never told me. When we got back from the island he wasn't...” Thea pauses and looks away, her eyes softening for just a minute before she replaces the softness with a much harder look. “...he wasn't the same. None of us were really, but when he thought you were dead. It was too much for him. It took a long time to get to this point and honestly, Felicity, I'm afraid what seeing you again is going to do to him.”

 

She never expected it from Thea. Sure they'd always been close, Oliver and Thea had demonstrated numerous times their protective nature. The love between those two siblings was something Felicity had always respected and admired in the past, but she'd never really thought to be on the other side of Thea's walls.

 

“I...” Felicity stammers and Thea's face loses some of its steel as she reaches across the table and places a hand on Felicity's.

 

Felicity looks down at their hands and stops herself from pulling her hand free. She can tell that Thea doesn't realize she's doing it, and that she means no harm by it.

 

Felicity knows that it's unrealistic to expect no one touch her ever again. She doesn't really want that either and though Thea's touch is still unsettling she allows it. She doesn't want to be broken forever, she wants to get passed it. So she focuses her attention back on Thea's words and tries to ignore the burning feeling in her gut and the panic building in her throat.

 

“Don't get me wrong, we are so glad you're back Felicity. I don't know what happened and it's none of my business. All I'm saying is, be careful with him.”

 

Felicity nods. Swallows. Breathes in a beat or two.

 

“I don't want to hurt him, Thea. I thought I did, I thought it would make things better but...” Thea smiles encouraging her to continue, “He's Oliver.”

 

And despite everything, the fact that he is Oliver makes hurting him a thing she can't actually imagine doing anymore. Last night she could have, maybe before he brought her in like a little lost bird with a broken wing. Before he tucked her away safely and promised to keep her. Before she remembered that he wasn't just the name of someone who unintentionally hurt her. Before she saw him cradling her jacket to his nose and his sister told her that he'd been broken too.

 

She could have eviscerated him... if she could forget who he was.

 

“I know,” Thea agrees.

 

Felicity thinks that maybe Thea does understand that much. That maybe Thea is actually one of the only other people who could understand it.

 

Thea lets go of her hand and sits back in her chair, pulling her knees up against her chest again. The anxiety in her own chest releases and she lets the tension drain with her exhale. She decides right there that Thea can touch her. Even if it's hard, she's going to let Thea in that much.

 

They still share that kinship. That understanding of Oliver that no one else does.

 

“He did try to put the suit on again about three years ago,” Thea offers after a few moments, “I think it was too soon. He had a lot of things he needed to figure out still. He went out with Dig and Dinah a few times but I think not hearing your voice in his ear was too much for him and he decided to focus on other things.”

 

Felicity wonders, not for the first time, what happened on the island and why they left. She wonders what Oliver was thinking and feeling and doing while she was... detained. This time it doesn't make her mad, just curious. Part of her still isn't ready for the truth, and perhaps that's why she's focused more of her energy on finding the rest of the team. Maybe it's why she doesn't press Thea for more now.

 

“I was thinking maybe I could look in on Dig and Dinah...” She pauses waiting for a response from Thea.

 

“Yeah, sure. I can take you in a little bit,” she offers.

 

Felicity hears the shower shut off and knows she can't afford to get caught. She's not ready for words with Oliver. It's still too fresh. She needs more time to properly prepare. She's going to need rules for both of them and she's pretty certain that Oliver isn't going to like all of them.

 

“No, that's okay. I can find my own way,” Felicity protests as she pushes her chair back and stands.

 

“You sure? Oliver will be down in a few minutes and...” Thea drops her knees and comes to her feet as well.

 

“Yeah. I'm sure,” the chair makes an awful scraping noise as Felicity quickly shoves it back in and both women try not to cringe. Felicity thinks Thea is onto her as the other woman tries to cover the distance between them. She retreats back to the other side of the table before Thea can reach her, as if the table can keep her safe.

 

“Felicity,” Thea pleads.

 

Doors open and close upstairs and Felicity makes her way to the window, knowing that she no longer has time to make it to the front door before Oliver gets to the stairs where he could see her escape.

 

“It's okay, Thea. Really. He knows,” she offers, then, “Text me the address?”

 

Thea nods, dejected, and Felicity shoves the window open and hops down.

 

Oliver finds Thea a few moments later standing at the kitchen window and looking out at the street.

 

“What are you looking at?” he questions.

 

“Nothing,” she sighs.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
